


The call of the void

by metalmeisje



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Blood, Body Horror, Creepy, Gen, Gore, Horror, voidphos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:55:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2741696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metalmeisje/pseuds/metalmeisje
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He’d torn himself apart for this, a galaxy in his throat and stars dancing between fingertips." (In which Xephos is literally a bit of void on legs, really.) (Note to the Yogscast: Do not read any of my fics on stream.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The call of the void

**Author's Note:**

> This needs a few notes, yes. Something pretty vague and creepy that I wrote up after discussing an AU with a friend about Xephos being a piece of void made sentient and Parvis being slowly consumed by the essence of the altar.
> 
> Void!Xephos? Kind of power-hungry and a big asshole, to be honest.
> 
> This is pretty self-indulgent but I found it back in my old writings and secretly loved it so much that I wanted to share it. It's actually accompanied by something from Parvis' perspective, but that's not mine to share. 
> 
> Read the tags, please. Body horror, gore, general creepiness.

They say that in space, no one can you hear you scream. Xephos knew that this was, at least scientifically speaking, mostly correct; sound was nothing more than a rippling of atoms that travelled from ripped vocal chords through an invisible nothingness until it arrived at who- or whatever was willing to listen – and in the vacuum of space, there is nothing to be moved by the attempted sounds of anguish, nothing at all except darkness and a void that will consume you before you even have the _sensible_ urge to scream.

This didn’t mean that space didn’t listen, though.

It just didn’t feel particularly inclined to _care_ as much.

Xephos watched with an impassive expression as Parvis screamed and trashed, his spine bent back so far that he could almost hear the cartilage crunch under the borrowed force of something foreign that directed every movement of his pathetic physical shell. He knew what Parvis saw, had knitted a web of dark stars and black holes and the blood that had been absorbed by the earth underneath Parvis’ base after so many months of bloodshed that the mage had no right to lay claim to.

He’d seen the cracks in the skin through which darkness shone ever so insistently, screaming at Xephos in a silent plea to be freed. He’d seen the flash of red light up Parvis’ eyes ever so briefly when he thought no one was watching him, had seen the concerned look in Strife’s gaze that was hard to distinguish from his usual scowl but as bright as day to Xephos regardless. He’d heard plenty of things in the shadows.

And he knew the language of the altar. Screams that weren’t too hard decipher if you were willing to listen, that gripped and tore at someone’s heart with a vicious subtlety that was unnoticeable until it was too late. Smooth and swift as quicksilver, mocking caresses of increasingly rotten flesh coaxing out beat after beat of a heart that was never meant to be saved in the first place. Invisibly corrupted until the stones of the altar betrayed the trust placed in them and fell away in a thunderous rage, dragging everything along with them. As Parvis knew, now. Xephos had just sped the process along a little.

He sighed in annoyance when Parvis bent his head backwards up and locked eyes with him, a mockery of vision black and oozing as if the void itself wept for this pathetic little creature. There’d been something inside of Parvis that was too big to contain for much longer anyway, and he was content to let it out – there was a war coming, stars were falling from the sky at an alarming rate and even Xephos couldn’t move fast enough to catch them all in trembling fingers to put them back where they belonged. Not even with the help he got.

Fight fire with fire, fight demons from another world with a demon you created.

Xephos crouched down next to the mangled flesh that still twitched on the floor, the soles of his boots sticking to the viscous mix of blood and nauseating ichor that clung to everything it could get a hold of; greedy tendrils of black that he settled with a flick of his wrist. Hush.

He’d torn himself apart for this, a galaxy in his throat and stars dancing between fingertips that dripped with blood as fingernails tore away; he’s screamed so loud he was surprised no one had come looking for him, roaring as he wept. But it was worth it, in the end. And he was _fine_ now, nebulae carefully concealed behind a mask of something so close to human no one would ever bother to suspect otherwise. The only testimony of something other were his eyes, the usual bright blue he’d grown so accustomed to now replaced by a darkness that looked back at Parvis, an eternity of star-lit expanses hidden away in a space that was too small for them.

He smiled almost shyly and ran a hand over Parvis back, feeling the bones there still twist and turn as they tried to find a place to settle in a body that would no longer accommodate them. He felt the sharp splinters begging to break the skin, tearing away the tissue, the blood an angry red amongst the syrupy-thick black goo that he knew he had to store away again. Void was unstable. Then again, that seemed only fitting here.

After a moment he spoke, so softly that Parvis shouldn’t have been able to hear him, really-

“You only see what I want you to see. I tore out the vacuum you buried inside of you for so long, only allowing the whispering presence of the altar to partake in the darkest of fantasies not even your dear, dear William knows about. Your blood drips upon the thirsty stones and they drink it in greedily, and every time you bleed you become a little less like yourself and a little more like the monster you dread to see in the mirrors you covered with heavy cloths. You think no one knows, but I know.”

I will turn you inside out and put your darkness on display like a butterfly, held down by pins as sharp as that forsaken knife of yours. Your bones are my bones and your blood is my blood. Your _darkness_ is my _darkness_. I’ll crush your bones to stardust and yank your spine out of position until it bends and breaks like you yourself are broken.

You may scream and you may beg and you can crawl on the floor until your legs are nothing more but bloody memories of something that used to be able to support you and I will still wait. I have more patience than you, infinitely more, so I’d be delighted to hear you try and tear your own vocal chords in needless effort. And then, I’ll wait a little longer.

You’ve passed for human long enough. I will tear you apart and build you up again so your horrors are out for the world to see. I can make your nightmares real and they will rip out your throat with almost-corporeal claws that won’t let go. And in the end, you will bleed like you always did. Maybe that’s a comfort.”

In space, no one can hear you scream. But the void will come looking for you anyway.


End file.
